


19/23

by caswell



Category: K (Anime)
Genre: Angst, Death, Dissociation, Fluff and Angst, Grief/Mourning, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Nightmares, Post-Series, Pre-Series, happy birthday yata, have some depression
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-07-20
Updated: 2016-07-20
Packaged: 2018-07-25 17:33:09
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,402
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7541659
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/caswell/pseuds/caswell
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>At age 19, Yata Misaki's life falls apart.<br/>Four years later, Fushimi Saruhiko helps put it together again.</p>
            </blockquote>





	19/23

**Author's Note:**

> ...I didn't have a birthday-themed fic written, okay?  
>  ANYWAY I wrote this fic in like October but I just got around to uploading it now because why not. Poor Yata, this was a coping fic though so hey. (Can ya tell? October was sad.)  
> Enjoy this hopefully??? hap birth

Yata flickers in and out of existence. He dissipates, then is pulled back together by some cosmic force, or an all-powerful being that seems to have some vendetta against him, forcing him to acknowledge his own suffering. Every time he closes his eyes, a movie plays in the back of his head. The sky is a sickly shade of green, a sharp contrast to the blood seeping from his friend's chest, now smudged in the shape of a thumb on Yata's own cheek.

He can still feel Tatara's body in his arms, hours later. Yata had never held someone his arms like that, and Tatara was  _dying,_  andit made him want to never touch someone again. It wasn't as cold as he thought it'd be. (Even in his last moments, Tatara was warm.) That warmth lingered on Yata's palms, slowly burning into his skin. He longed for ice.

Suddenly, it's 3 A.M., and everyone who had gathered only to sit around in silence is leaving, walking almost as zombie-like as Yata feels- but not quite. He himself can't move. If he does, he figures, his legs might just fall out from under him, and what would happen then? He wonders, absently, why it's not happening to everyone else. Deep down, though, he can't judge them- HOMRA may be tough, but it's impossible, when you lose someone like that boy, to now find cracks in your heart, even if it's invisible to others. In his mind's eye, Yata saw pillowcases stained with tears.

Kusanagi gives him a sympathetic look from the corner of his eye, but says nothing as he switches out the light, leaving Yata in bleak darkness. It doesn't register with him for a few seconds, but when it finally does, he lets out a shaky breath. His lungs ache. His head does, too, for that matter, and his chest, and his stomach. Tatara was killed by the bullet, but Yata suffered the exit wound. 

He vaguely notes the warm tears on his face. Yata knows he's far from the brightest bulb, as a certain  _someone_ reminds him of all the time, but he understands that shutting off the light was more than closing up shop after a long night- it was an act of mercy. Now nobody could see him break down, effectively crushing his tough persona under his heel. He drew in another deep breath and let it out in a raw sob, and another, and another. With every gasp, he hated himself more, and he loved Tatara, he was his  _friend_ for God's sake, how could this happen? All he wanted was to protect his friends, since the very start.

Yata's crying dies down a long while later, though he can't conceptualize time, so the specifics are unknown and meaningless besides that. Exhaustion hits him like a brick. He thought maybe he wouldn't be able to sleep, but it creeps up on him from behind, and suddenly his eyelids feel impossibly heavy. With a slight sense of guilt, he lets them close, and welcomes sleep, though he's far from his own bed.

In his dream, he looks up at Tatara, who has a crimson thumbprint on his cheek.

 

* * *

 

 

Yata's eyes open wide and sudden into the pitch black of the early morning, a scream caught in his throat as he jolts into a sitting position. He touches his cheek, rubs and rubs until it hurts, but there's no blood there. There was just blood there, just a few seconds ago. Warm blood. Living blood, and then it wasn't.

The touch of cold fingers on his hand shocks Yata, and this time he  _does_ cry out, voice ringing into the dark room. He stays stiff for a second, then sighs, looks to the side. "Saruhiko... did I wake you up?"

"You had another nightmare," Saruhiko says, ignoring Yata's question. He rubs one eye, then mumbles, "C'mere," tugging the hem of Yata's tank top.

Yata doesn't have the energy to do anything but obey, falling back to the mattress, fatigue sneaking into him even after the rush of panicked energy from the dream. He turns towards Saruhiko to bury his face into the white fabric of his boyfriend's shirt, and he doesn't resist, even though he knows he'll have to wash it later. A hand presses against his back as Saruhiko pulls him closer, and as Yata's tears begin to soak through the fabric to his skin, he moves it to Yata's hair, pulling back ginger strands from where they'd clung to his wet face.

"I just want to forget," Yata moans eventually, voice muffled and slow. "I don't want to see this anymore, it's been four years." He rolls over onto his back to look at the ceiling through raw and stinging eyes. "We all... we all hurt. All of us loved him. But I was  _there,_ Saruhiko, I..." He pauses, swallows, not wanting to say it and sorely tempted to stop crying and go back to sleep and never talk about it again because, yeah, he's not the strongest guy, his facade doesn't work, but this borders on pathetic. But he doesn't. "I saw him die in my arms," he finally chokes out. "Do you know how that feels?"

"No, I don't," Saruhiko answers, somewhat regretful to give such a dissatisfying answer. He racks his brain for something comforting to say, but it's never been his strong suit. He settles with, "Misaki. Listen. You've been through a lot. Don't bottle it up."

Yata swallows back venom-  _Why would you care? You stopped giving a shit about HOMRA a long time ago._ He knows, logically, that that's not completely true. Even if Saruhiko doesn't care about the Red Clan, he cares about _him_ , and besides, this wasn't the time to pick a fight. "I was scared. I was... terrified." His voice is guttural, dripping with self-loathing. "I couldn't help. I just wanted to  _help._ I wanted to help, but I just sat there crying like a pussy." Fingers comb through his auburn hair as he grumbles, "So, y'know, fuck me, right?"

"Not in that state, I won't," Saruhiko jokes, and Yata snorts in laughter, cracking a reluctant smile. "But, Misaki, it's fine to be scared. Nobody expects more." It sounds harsh when he says it- he's never been that good with words- but Yata seems to understand.

"I just... I don't  _want_ to be," Yata says. He sounds so small. He  _feels_ so small. "I don't want to wake up like this all the damn time." And suddenly, his words are stifled by guilt, guilt that says, _stop, careful, he'll get tired of you._ _You're such a pain in the ass. Such a fucking pansy._ "I don't want to be a burden," he whispers after a while. 

Saruhiko sighs, and for a heart-stopping moment, Yata thinks those voices at the back of his head are right, that his boyfriend is tired of him. His blood begins to pump again when Saruhiko says, "Work is a burden. Chores are a burden. You're not work, you're not chores, Misaki, you're my  _partner,_ so stop worrying." The words are blunt, but Yata holds tight to them, hoping he's not lying. Saruhiko's voice takes on a softer tone when he continues, "You might not fully trust me yet. Maybe you never will, and I understand. But believe me for a second, as long as I'm here, I've got your back."

The words take Yata back to those days so many years ago, and he lets out a shaky laugh, not completely sure what he's feeling. But it seems to help calm him down, because his breath stabilizes from shuddering gasps to little exhalations, almost normal again. He turns back to Saruhiko again, pressing close, as if he'd disappear if he wasn't touching him. "...I'm sorry. Thanks, Saru."

Saruhiko adjusts his body to brush aside Yata's hair and presses a kiss to his forehead. "Can you sleep?"

It takes a second for Yata to respond, but eventually he nods. "I think so," he says dully.

As Yata closes his eyes, Saruhiko whispers, "Misaki. I love you."

Yata smiles with as much happiness as he can muster and echoes, "I love you, too." And, as he succumbs to his emotional and physical tiredness, his heart beats with that love against Saruhiko's side, slowing into a soft, even rhythm as he finally relaxes again.

**Author's Note:**

> I'm going to be honest with you all, I think some of the first part got lost in my notebooks somewhere? Whatever, more Sarumi by percentage.


End file.
